


The Things That Don't See the Light of Day

by analnatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, In the bunker, Kinda, M/M, Poetic, pretty, season 8 or later, sort of unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2837147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/analnatural/pseuds/analnatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not often that Dean lets Sam in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things That Don't See the Light of Day

It's not often that Dean lets Sam in, but when he does Sam cherishes all he is allowed of this delicacy. When he does, he does so with everything inside of him, and around him, and within his reach, and it never fails to remind Sam of why he feels these otherwise forbidden things that he should not feel and cannot be defined for his brother. The nights when Dean walks into his room late at night speaking not with words, making his way into Sam's bed. Right beside him where he belongs, where he has always resided, the only home he knows. These sacred nights Dean spends in his safe place, letting Sam run his fingers oh so delicately through his hair while murmuring to him the things Dean will not allow in daylight. Now, he lay beneath him with all his weaknesses bared in the way he slips his eyes shut with all the softness he was never allowed as a child, and the way he clings to Sam with all he can manage of the limited energy he has left. It's not often Dean presses his lips to Sam's neck, not in a kiss, but in a praise. And, if you listen close, he lets out the smallest moans that you could only hear from an inch away. Sam's not sure whether Dean himself knows he's making them, they aren't sounds of the mouth, but of the soul, and they're nothing Dean could ever help and nothing he would ever admit to. As Sam murmurs his devotion in whispers, Dean does so in the very carbon dioxide he exhales.

 

Dean can't control himself these nights, drunk on what lays in his own mind rather than what fills a bottle. There's nothing he can do with his heavy limbs than drag them out of his own bed, empty to the eye but full with the burdens that weigh down it's passenger. He leaves everything there in that bed, his honor, his filter, his thoughts, and climbs to where he knows he will not need them. He lets himself go. Lets himself _be._ Be with the one he will not admit he needs more than he needs any substance. He lets himself leave, overgrown limbs his only anchor to this earth. He feels, feels the warmth radiated toward him through his brother, feels the tenderness all for him. Neither sinful brother will think of his actions before or after he takes them. Nothing matters these nights. These nights are what make the mornings where Dean wakes up feeling whole again for the first time this month, enough energy to last him until next time. He climbs out of his brothers body (that does not belong to him) and kisses his forehead once, twice, and lets him go before he wakes up to see the mess that Dean's made.

 

He doesn't look back to see the bite of sadness in his brothers eyes as he watches his own comfort walk out of his bedroom.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I realize a while after I've written this it's poorly written n I'm sorry


End file.
